


Dig Deep

by Hambone



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Animal Death, Canon-Typical Violence, Consensual Violence, M/M, Sex With a Space Cruiser, Tactile Interfacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-24
Updated: 2014-01-24
Packaged: 2018-01-09 21:07:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1150803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hambone/pseuds/Hambone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A short trip through space.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dig Deep

Cruising low over a line of purple hills, Cyclonus fired a neat line of laser blast into the landscape, effectively leveling the area. He pulled up sharply, spiraling through the ashy clouds, the thick atmosphere screaming in resistance. Inside his cockpit, Galvatron shrieked with laughter, slamming his heel into the floor until it gave, buckling aside like cheap steel. With another harsh yank at his controls, Cyclonus was diving back towards the ground, pinpointing every possible target within eight hundred kliks without being told. 

His Lord had approached him with an energy Cyclonus had not and would not see the like of anywhere else. There was not much explaining done as to what their destination or intent would be, but there seldom ever was, even if Galvatron had had the clarity to decide himself beforehand. He had chosen to ride inside Cyclonus, an increasingly rare treat, so the groons of aimlessly flying through space in whatever direction Lord Galvatron desired was less bothersome than it could have been, and the various bits of space debris they destroyed along their way were all atomized only through a slap of Galvatron’s palm against his controls, pleasurable as it was affirming. 

Then, through the whirlwind of power that clouded his processor but sharpened his instinct, Galvatron had found this wretched organic planetoid and steered him to it. The creatures of this world were primitive at best, little more than drones made of meat. The larger ones had lowed deeply as Cyclonus first breeched the atmosphere, craning their necks to watch passively as their death screeched towards them. Galvatron was hot with rage, as literally as figuratively, commanding Cyclonus with both his hands and a bellow that shook them both to immolate the stupid beasts. They burned quickly. 

Now they circled the planet’s tiny surface, reshaping the world as Galvatron saw fit. His fury rose and fell with a velocity and grace no living being could imitate. Perhaps it was the Autobots he saw in the fleeing forms of the animals below, perhaps I was merely another insect hardly worthy of his boot.  It mattered not, in the end; as long as Galvatron required, Cyclonus was more than happy to be that boot.

“Fools! Fools!” 

Galvatron laughed loudly, his hands tight round Cyclonus’ steering column. With another flick of his thumb, a round of laser fire rained down upon a herd of lumbering organics, the sounds of their agony not quite loud enough to drown out the crackling of the flames below. 

His sensory net always lit up when Galvatron was inside him, attuned to every minute movement of his frame, and this time was no different. As his Lord slammed a fist down upon his console, crushing buttons to fragments that skittered down against his dented floor space, Cyclonus felt there could be no greater ecstasy. Galvatron belonged there, within his being, ordering and commanding and thoroughly, utterly owning all that surrounded him. Cyclonus was his, this rotten rock was his, Cybertron was his, and the very universe itself and all those beyond it were his, even if its denizens did not know it yet.

Jerking his body as if it held too much strength to contain, his tail scraped against its groove in the chair made just for it, shearing away bits of mesh-foam and sending an exquisite burn up through Cyclonus’s circuits. Yes, being with Galvatron always left him charged and wanting, but the vigor with which his Lord now pounded his controls was causing him to fade fast. Still, his sensors were sharp, and he remained vigilant, always focused on Galvatron’s desires over his own. 

He could not resist the full body shudder drawn deep from within his spark as his Lord gripped his steering column with a force that crushed it, sparks spitting out into his cabin. Galvatron shifted to see better, and Cyclonus could feel, more acutely than usual, the strength of his form, thrumming out from his core and into them both. Servos glided against his dented console, more gently than usual, as Galvatron scanned the razed landscape intently. They brushed against his exposed wiring, stirring the torn filaments so lightly the stimulation was almost unbearable. 

Wings quivering, he banked left, only to come across another charred plain born only kliks ago. Agitated, Galvatron pressed his palms flat into the controls, digging his fingers in between the plating there and kneading them into the soft bundles of cable. Cyclonus’s engine nearly stalled, a crack of pleasure shocking through his system.

“My Lord…” he began, a panic beginning to rise inside him as he realized Galvatron’s touch was affecting him more than was safe in flight. He was cut off by a punch to his windshield, hard enough to leave a small spider-web of cracks where no weapon had ever penetrated before. This time his engines really did stall and without warning they dropped several meters. 

It took Galvatron’s deep, vicious laughing to snap him from his stupor. His engines cut back on with a roar and they were horizontal again, gliding over the burned landscape. Galvatron was still laughing, hunched over the console and squeezing little strips of metal from it into tight balls in his palms. 

“Cyclonus!” he cried, glee overtaking his anger. “This is only the beginning! Yes, the beginning.” 

He jerked his knee up into the flight controls, sending them down closer to the rock’s surface. 

“Cybertron will be like this when I am done with it! Worse, even! No place, no place is safe!” 

“Yes, Lord Galvatron,” Cyclonus croaked, trying so hard to fly straight as his spark swelled with admiration. Galvatron crouched so his chest ground painfully into what was left of his landing controls and it was quite distracting. It’s not as though any of these buttons and dials are really important for Cyclonus’s operation, as he can of course, move himself just fine. They are there for Galvatron to use as he wishes.  

Laughing, Galvatron slammed his fist down into the panel so hard he tore a nasty chunk out of the metal, and Cyclonus vibrates with pleasure. His Lord’s wishes do not often coincide with their intended function. 

“Down, Cyclonus! Down!” Galvatron screeches, and Cyclonus complied. The charge burning through him was hot enough now that he knew Galvatron must be aware of what he was doing, grabbing the steering column again and twisting the already crushed metal into an even less recognizable shape. 

“Mighty One…” Cyclonus murmured, half in fear and half in desperation. The air outside his cockpit, thick with smoke, parts viscously as Galvatron shocks them both forwards, accelerating their descent until they’re a sparse few meters from the ground. He wanted to say more but doesn’t trust his vocalizer.

 Galvatron dug his feet into the floor and, snarling like a beast, bit into one side of Cyclonus’s wheel. Cyclonus could not contain his gasp, another round of laser fire accidentally releasing onto the lifeless ground below. Full of joy, Galvatron hunched his shoulders and thrashed his neck to the side, tearing off half of the steering column between his teeth. 

“Galvatron!” Cyclonus dropped suddenly like a rock, overload hitting him hard and fast. Galvatron’s mad laughter rang out through his cockpit, even as they hit the ground, half horizontal, Cyclonus doing his best to keep them upright even as his neural net burns and his vision grew pixilated. 

His undercarriage dragged through the cracked landscape, scraping off his paint in a long lavender smear as they spun out. Finally reaching a complete halt, Cyclonus allowed himself a brief moment of relief as the aftershocks of overload twitched through him. Galvatron spit scrap, rubbing solvent off his chin as he pulled himself up from the floor where he’d fallen. 

“My-my liege,” stammered Cyclonus, mortified by his lack of control. Aside from having crashed, he had overloaded without his Lord’s permission. Galvatron pushed his way up over the command module and out through the glass hood, which Cyclonus opened preemptively, though not without difficulty. 

Boots churning up reddish dust, Galvatron surveyed his creation. Cyclonus transformed, immediately bowing his head as he knelt, an admission of his mistakes. Galvatron ignored him, ventilating deeply. Stray sparks and ash were caught in his breath, sucked in and devoured, just like the once-planet they hailed from.  

“Yes, yes,” he muttered, pacing, moving his arms about, clenching and releasing his fists. Cyclonus would not dare to look up, but he listened intently. Restless but driven, Galvatron moved about the crater they created, talking quickly and quietly. Cyclonus cannot fully hear him, much less understand him, but he paid rapt attention regardless. Every word that passes through his Lord’s vocal synthesizer is a treasure, and he treats them each as such. 

Then Galvatron is quiet. His footfalls stop, his monologue cut off abruptly, as if he was distracted by something. Cyclonus did not move, but every sensory node inside his frame was alive and wary. 

“Ah,” he breathed, calm, as if remembering something. These moments do not sit well with his Second. Inside every moment of clarity lay a fragment of what his Lord once was, and the distance in his gaze caused a cold to creep into Cyclonus’s very spark at times, as if his truest reason for being had been cut away from him. He turned and began to walk, slowly, towards Cyclonus. Calm, still, but with an inherent power. It was only when Galvatron’s boots entered his low field of vision that Cyclonus speaks. 

“My Lord, I have failed you.” It seems a bit dramatic, perhaps, but even small failures could be representative of a deeper lacking, of disobedience. 

Galvatron grabbed his antennae in a grip firm enough to dent the plating and yanked him to his feet. 

But his Lord was smiling. 

“This!” he gestured to the scorched landscape behind him, “This is power!”

Cyclonus did not fully relax, keeping his optics on Galvatron’s face.

“Yes, Lord Galvatron.” Despite his fear, the words of praise were genuine and spoken in the reverent tone they deserved. 

Galvatron looked out across the burning world and bared his teeth. Cyclonus got the distinct impression that he is not seeing what Galvatron is seeing, but his Lord’s vision is boundless and Cyclonus’s is not. Galvatron tugged him along, back and forth across the crater, but absently, without any real intent to humiliate or harm him further. Hunched awkwardly, Cyclonus did his best not to fall and focused on the hands on his helm, the strength they house.

There is nowhere in the universe he’d rather be.  

 


End file.
